


Skid and Pump's Guide to Befriending a Sourpuss

by Crabwrangler



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Spooky Month (Short Films - Sr Pelo)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baleful Polymorph, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Lemon Demon Cat AU, Lemon Demon is demonic goop that possesses living organisms, Lila is not impressed, Skid and Pump just want to be friends with the spooky cat, come fight me, gross amounts of fluff juxtaposed with dark overtones, man eating lemons don't bode well for human bodies, more tags to add later, not beta read we die like men, will probably change the rating later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crabwrangler/pseuds/Crabwrangler
Summary: A run in with Mother and Daddy Dearest has left the Lemon Demon in dire straits, he’s gotten away, but now he’s stuck with Spooky Month enthusiasts Skid and Pump for the foreseeable future, and not in his usual form.Hopefully he can get out before these two brats drive him insane, that's if he doesn’t eat them first.
Relationships: Skid & Lila (Spooky Month), Skid & Pump & Lemon Demon, Skid & Pump (Spooky Month)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	Skid and Pump's Guide to Befriending a Sourpuss

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the darkness of a dingy back alleyway. A pair of wide glowing eyes and a grim smile glistened in the darkness. The figure slumped against a graffitied brick wall underneath a rusted iron awning. He listened to the sound of rain pelt from above, humming a lilted tune to nobody in particular. A dumpster surrounded by recently rummaged garbage sat nearby, it stank of rotting meat. He traced circles with his gaunt black fingers along a tattered stocking cap, lightly flicking the pompom at the end back and forth, until it teared from its seam and unceremoniously dropped into a puddle of mud.

_ Just great… It wasn't like this night could get any better. That hat was growing on me too. _

The demon stared miserably at the offending ball of fluff and made an approximation of a frown. Unfortunately his head, whose yellow complexion and shape eerily resembled that of a lemon, no longer had any lips—his host’s facial extremities had long since rotted off. The best he mustered was a wide open mouth grimace. He thought back to the certain slip up which raised the alarms on his less conventional eating habits. It made his blood boil.

The lives of these humans living in this town were inconsequential and shouldn’t have been an issue to begin with—but the problem was that they were _ persistent.  _ It had been months and they wouldn’t let up the chase and he couldn't understand  _ why _ . After all, it was one measly human girl. It really didn’t matter in the greater scheme of things. He couldn’t fathom how these prey animals had driven him into a corner like this for the first time in recent memory. He wouldn’t like to admit it, but it scared him a little.

But he was also  _ ravenous _ . 

The constant running hasn’t given him a chance to devour a proper meal in ages. The demon’s blackened skin sagged on his body, making him look like a particularly malnourished coat rack. His hunger gnawed at his very being. It was all he could ever think about nowadays; it made him more prone to obvious slip ups, mistakes he really couldn’t afford right now. He greedily eyed the nearby rubbish. He was desperate enough. But there was nothing but dried up skin and bones—he had already checked—nothing he could use right now, anyway.

A man shouted a couple blocks down, “Look—I think the monster ran down here!”

_ Well, looks like break time is over. _

The demon bristled. He knew he couldn’t keep up this game of cat and mouse for much longer. Not at this rate. His life depended on an escape. But the faint cries of a cat nearby broke him out of his brooding. The demon perked up.

…

Hm… maybe it was time for a change of pace. The demon smiled in self satisfaction and silently sunk into the shadows to hide inside a nearby trash can.

* * *

Two gangsters entered a dark alleyway. They wore finely pressed grey suits and sneakers, which would have looked swanky had the overhead rain had not drenched them. The taller of the two carried a flashlight. He shone it forward, and as the light bounced off the walls, it left a silhouette of the two men as imposing horned figures. 

On first glance one might mistake them for demons because of their aggressively gelled hair, styled to look like horns. But no, it was a common mistake. It was a trademark of their syndicate—formally known as the Ninth Circle—a symbol to let others know if you messed with them; you were messing with the devil.

The smashing of some nearby bins and the sound of a cat screeching bloody murder broke their companionable silence. They heard a brief struggle, a wet crunch, and then silence.

The taller man yelped, madly waving his flashlight around, “Jeezus, what was that?!” 

His shorter companion pinched his brow and sighed. “Well, it looks like we’re gonna have fuck around and find out, aren't we Tony. Now c’mon.” He strong armed his partner and pushed forward. His heart was leaping in his chest too, but he had to remain calm, for both their sakes.

They had a mission to complete. They both knew it, otherwise the Mrs’s would have their heads on the chopping block. At first Butcher didn’t believe what she was telling them. That the freak they were chasing after was some sort of abomination sent straight from hell, spliced with a Sunday morning cartoon special. They called it the  _ Lemon Demon, _ of all things. He’d imagine it saying some nonsense like:

_ Come here kids, get your morning serving of freshly squeezed human juice! It’s an important part of a growing child’s diet y'know. _

A monster that ate people with a lemon for a head? 

_ Get real. C'mon ya gotta be pulling my leg here.  _

At least that’s what he would have said if he didn’t know any better. But he knew the bosses well, and they were dead serious.

He got serious too when he first saw it. 

Saw how it could rend flesh and bone apart like paper mache.

Saw how it smiled and laughed with childlike glee as it skinned his friends alive while they screamed until their lungs gave out. 

He wouldn’t have survived that encounter had he not packed that thing full of lead with his tommy gun. And when he ran away, he looked back. And watched, to his horror, as the monster absorbed the pools of blood spilled on the concrete back into its body. It rose in slow, stilted movements. It shrugged off the bullets like they were nothing, and just stared at him. That face was like nothing he’d ever seen before. 

Its rows of bloodied teeth grinned at him like a jagged accordion with one too many keys smashed into it. Its bulbous eyes glared at him with the vengeance of every hateful nightmare, every half seen horror from the corner of his eye, and every imagined monster he’d ever had since childhood. It was as if the monsters under his bed had come to life to tell him they were always real, that they hated him, and he was going to die. 

Honestly, that thing scared him shitless. 

He wanted to quit this job, but this wasn’t the venture you could exactly walk out of without serious consequences. So he stayed. It was better than the alternative.

They approached a corner in the alleyway and turned in trepidation.

“Oh, um, Butcher, it looks like it’s already dead.”

“Wait—what? That thing's an unstoppable killing machine how can you tell me it’s—”

_ Oh wow, it really was dead, _ Butcher thought dumbly. 

He didn’t know what to expect from tonight, and honestly, he was a little disappointed. His shoulders sagged as he stared down at the corpse, face planted down in the mud and rain. Its neck was bent at an unnatural angle and he could see its blackened blood mixing into the puddle beneath their feet. The mobster groaned inwardly. Now  _ that _ was a stain that was definitely not coming out of his new jordans. He stepped to the side.

“Well, how do you think it died?” shrugged Butcher.

Tony tilted his head sheepishly, “Well, I dunno, you reckon it had somethin’ to do with that cat from earlier?”

Butcher shook his head furiously, “No—no—no you dumbass, that's stupid, this thing can take bullets easy. It makes no fuckin’ sense”. He crossed his arms and frowned.

He couldn’t piece it together. How had the monster that had haunted his nightmares for the past month, died face down in a back alleyway like some worthless schmuck?

“Whatever did it though doesn’t matter anymore—deed’s done,” Tony huddled under the awning and shivered. “C’mon, let's bag the body and get outta here, I’m freezing my pants off.” 

Butcher sighed in resignation, “Yeah, alright… but don’t tell nobody that the monster was already dead when we found it,  _ capiche” _ .

Butcher had to admit, it certainly made things easier for the two mobsters. They weren't ones to look a horse in the mouth—or however that saying went. Taking credit for tonight would land themselves a fat paycheck from the bosses—and heck maybe a promotion if they were lucky. They were going to leave the scene of the crime swiftly with no witnesses. Then everything would be sweet.

“Hey Skid, check out this cat!”

The mobsters jumped out of their skin and peered out the front end of the alley. They looked down and spotted two children. The men observed at a distance. If Butcher had to guess, they would have to be around eight to ten years old—they couldn’t let them spot the body—the thought of disposing a kid made Butcher physically ill.

Both of the kids were dressed in Halloween costumes, but last time he checked it was the middle of February. One kid wore a loosely fitted skeleton morph suit with black and white face paint. He held up an umbrella for the other stockier kid, who wore a jack o'lantern mask and a little black suit with coattails. Their names were Skid and Pump respectively, but Butcher wouldn’t have cared to know that.

Pump was currently crouched down, cooing at what Butcher thought was the damn ugliest cat he’d seen in his life. 

Its pepper black fur was molted across its body, it left chunks of its legs, neck and face bare revealing its sickly purple skin underneath. Not to mention the cat was soaking wet, and Butcher could smell the stench of dead rat wafting from it all the way from behind the dumpster. It hissed at the kid. Butcher gestured angrily for Tony to shut up and take his lead. They dragged the limp body out of sight and approached the children.

“Hey kids, what are you doing out so late at night—ain'tcha parents wonder’n where you are?” said Butcher.

The Skid looked up at the men. “Nah, my mum’s cool, we go out all the time”.

“Hey, are you guys dressed up for Spooky Month?” said Pump pointing vaguely at their heads.

“Oh, wha—no, don’t you know it's not October yet, Halloween is months away,” said Butcher, who fiddled self-consciously with his gelled horns.

“Oh, no… Skid, they don’t know it's a Spooky Month,” murmured Pump to his friend at room volume.

Tony eyed the mangy cat next to boys. “You probably shouldn’t play with that feral cat. It might have rabies or somethin’.” 

Its bloodshot eyes seemed to judge Tony… menacingly. 

“Nuh-uh,” Skid shook his head, “that's just cause’ you think he’s scary—but he isn’t—he’s a spooky!” He exclaimed, waving his free hand for further emphasis.

“Yeah, he’s really cool!” Pump picked up the cat and squeezed it close to his chest. It yelped as he knocked the wind out of it.

“Um, that's great.” Butcher lowered his shades and looked around suspiciously. “Say boys... you haven’t seen a seven to eight-foot man with a lemon for a head prowling round these parts, have ya’?”

Pump frowned slightly, “Um… no why?”

“AH HA! No reason,” Butcher laughed nervously. 

He started pushing the kids back out of the front entrance of the alleyway, Tony tailing behind him, blocking the entry.

“Well, you two boys better get back home, it's raining pretty hard, your mum must be startin’ to worry yeah?” Tony said pointedly.

The children stared at the men with their brows raised, glanced at each other, and shrugged in unison.

“Sure um, ok?”

As the pair of men walked off, that cat smiled smugly with its toothy red fangs.

“Well, that was weird,” muttered Pump.

As soon as the men left the kid’s line of sight, the cat bundled in Pump’s arms started writhing.

“Pump, he uh—he doesn’t look too happy. Maybe we should let him go,” said Skid, mildly alarmed.

“Aw, but Skid, we can’t just leave it out in the rain—just look at him.” Pump pouted and stared at Skid pleadingly.

The Skid glanced at the cat question. It pathetically clawed at his friend’s white gloves. He considered himself a friend to all things spooky, and this very spooky cat obviously needed their help.

Skid stroked his chin in deep thought. “Hmmm… I know, let's take it to my house!”

The cat grimaced. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The walk home was much more uneventful that Pump expected. He didn’t consider the streets particularly hard to navigate, he’d memorised the neighbourhood down to the cracks in the sidewalks ever since he started hanging out with Skid. The rain had eased off into a light drizzle and the cat had stopped trying to squirm out of his arms about three blocks ago, which he was thankful for.

The boys scampered down the muddy footpath under Skid’s umbrella, splashing in the puddles along the way. Pump spotted Skid’s home a couple houses down. He slowed down to a halt and shifted nervously under a fluorescent street light. His chest tightened. He was getting second thoughts.

Skid turned around with his brow raised, “Hey, why’d you stop, my house is just up ahead?”

Pump shook his head, “Oh—uh, nothing I’m coming over.”

It would probably be fine… probably, Pump thought. Lila was nice. Skid let them towards his front door and knocked. Pump heard the muffled shout of a woman behind the door, and a few moments later the door swung open. 

“Hey boys, welcome back,” Lila ushered the kids inside and closed the door. 

They entered the neat, albeit cluttered interior of the house. Many family photos littered the beige walls, most were of Lila and Skid making goofy poses in their various Halloween costumes, but a few of them were of him and Skid… it was nice. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Like somebody actually included him in something for once.

The kids spotted the remnants of what looked like a pot of mac and cheese reduced to a smoldering crater set aside on a hotplate. Next to that were three plates of microwaved dinosaur nuggets, mashed potatoes and veggies set up on the laminate countertop.

“I’ve got dinner sorted on the table and—” Lila trailed off mid-sentence. She noticed the wet cat in Pump’s arms and stared at it. “Uh kids, what have you got there?”

“He’s our new friend we picked up on the street,” said Skid.

“Well, that’s very nice of you two,” Lila scratched at her neck, “but… we can’t keep him here.”

“Awww why not?!” cried the kids in unison.

Lila didn’t even know where to begin.

Usually she was quite fond of cats despite her allergies, but in this case she had to make an exception. There was just something about this one that made her distinctly  _ uncomfortable _ . She stared into the cat’s bloodshot eyes and examined its face. Its teeth looked like a poorly assembled craft project, a hodgepodge of sharp canines and molars haphazardly mashed together to assemble something vaguely resembling a mouth. All stained a bright cherry pink red. Which would have all rather been amusing to her if it were a toy her son’s friend was giving her, instead of a living,  _ breathing _ animal. She stared at it with a dazed expression. 

The mangy thing in Pumps arms was admittedly the least concerning thing brought into the house so far, compared to robbers and a demonically possessed rat exterminator. This was the least of her worries. But no, she couldn’t keep it here. It looked practically feral, and anything that could hurt her kids had to go.

“Well, how should I explain this,” she sat the boys down in the lounge. “Cats that grow up on the street don’t do well when brought into a home. They come with a lot more issues than we can help them with”.

“But this will be easy, you love cats,” said Skid.

“I do, sweetie—but this fella isn’t like the kittens in the pet store, he can make you really sick and he doesn’t know how to act around people. He can and will hurt you”.

“But we can take really,  _ really _ good care of him,” mumbled Pump, squirming sheepishly on the couch.

“Look, I’m really sorry, I know how much this cat means to the both of you but he can’t stay here,” Lila took a deep breath and sighed. “We’ll keep him overnight, but I’m dropping him off at the shelter first thing tomorrow morning. At least then he’ll be somewhere people will help him”.

The cat on Pump’s chest blinked.

“—but”.

“There are no but’s this time”.

The boys could help but snigger despite their disappointment.

“Hehe she said  _ butts, _ ” whispered Pump, leaning next to Skid’s ear in faux secrecy. They both wilted into silence as the joke crumpled against the mood.

Pump’s grip on the cat slackened and it bit his hand. He yelped, pulling his glove back to see the leather had been torn into. While he was distracted, the offending cat leapt off his lap and dropped onto the linoleum tiles.

It scampered off towards the nearest exit.

“Stop that cat!” shouted Skid.

He sprang from the couch and dived towards the escapee. But it dodged at the last second and Skid ended up smacking into the tile floor face first. Lila gasped and raced to pick up her son.

The cat bounded up onto the nearby countertop and slid, knocking over a fruit bowl, family portrait, and a stack of dirty dishes. The assorted fruits cascaded down with the dignity of an opera. The portrait shattered on the floor, soon followed by the plates. The cat tore a hole through the fly screen of an open window and leapt through with the urgency of a man running from a burning building. It tumbled onto the grass outside and raced through the garden.

Skid and Pump were primed to chase the cat out the back door until Lila yanked them both by the scruff of their collars. “Oh, no you  _ don’t _ ”.

“But he’s getting away!” cried Skid.

Lila’s grip tightened, “Boys, you are  _ not _ chasing after that cat—it's late and raining—you’re going to have to wait”.

The kids watched dismayed as the cat squeezed through a hole in the back picket fence and disappeared out of sight. The kids murmured, Lila bore down on them with a severity that could drill a hole through a concrete wall. Skid’s mum was scary when she was serious. They gulped, neither of them had the guts to argue. 

“...Ok,” they muttered.

Lila released her grip and sighed. She stared intently at Pump, “Show me where the cat bit you”.

The boy reluctantly lifted his arm. She kneeled down and slid off the white glove and inspected his hand. Thankfully, the wound was only surface level; the puncture barely grazed the skin. She glanced over to Skid; she spotted a bruise blossoming underneath the smeared face paint on his right check.  _ Now that is going to be harder to fix. What a handful _ .

“Alright, let me get you two cleaned up then we can sort this tomorrow, how does that sound?”

They both nodded.

The kitchen was in shambles, but remarkably the dinners remained untouched. Lila cleaned most of the mess. She classified this disaster as a job for  _ tomorrow, _ Lila. But whilst sweeping through the debris, she found the shattered photo frame. This especially upset her—it was her favourite photo, too—although those who knew her would add that she’d say that about every frame in the house. 

Those people would be right—but she swore this was an exception—it was a selfie of her, Skid, and Pump posing together for their first official Halloween together. Skid had just met Pump whilst trick or treating on the street, and by the end of the night they were inseparable. She was so glad too since Skid had such a tough time making friends, despite how vocal he usually was. But now there was a ceramic shard slit through the photo. Just another thing to add to the list of chores for tomorrow.

After Lila washed and bandaged Pump’s hand and got Skid an ice pack for his face they ate dinner. It was awkward to say the least, the residual tension in the air was palpable. Even reenacting the mass extinction event with dismembered dinosaur nuggets and tomato sauce blood couldn’t lift the two kid’s spirits.

The kids got changed out of their Halloween costumes and got ready for bed. Pump was sleeping over on the couch in Skid’s room since his parents and sister were out for the weekend. Pump lied down and watched the permafrost crusting around the outside edges of the nearby window. Despite the cat biting his hand, Pump couldn’t help but worry. It wouldn’t freeze outside, would it? He shivered and pulled the duvet closer to his chest.

“Hey Skid, we’re going out tomorrow to look for that cat, right?”

Skid turned to face Pump from his bed, and blinked blearily, “Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, the thing is… I don’t think your mum should know, you saw how she freaked out when we brought him in”.

Something flipped uncomfortably in Skid’s stomach. He had never kept secrets from his mum before, but Pump was right. They’d never have time to show her they could look after it right if she just plucked it away.

Skid bit at the inside of his cheek, “Yeah, ok, I suppose you’re right”.

“Ok then, we’ll start looking tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo boy my first fic, please go easy on me I'm baby.
> 
> All jokes aside this fic idea has been boiling in my brain for the past month and I want to share it. Felt like I went a little bit hammy with Mommy and Daddy Dearest's goons but its ok. It'd be cool to help fill the Lemon Dad void in the Friday Night Funkin'n tag, I'll try to update this every couple of week but no promises. My brain wants to fight me. Anyways thanks for sticking around to read this : )
> 
> Edit: made some punctuations edits to the dialouge thanks for pointing that out Crossover_Enthusiast


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